Blogger, realist, clarifier, if there is such a term. Truth teller, who's not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Hellacious, renegade violist and "computer whisperer"; was once accused of practicing the Dark Arts with systems.
I'm tougher than most and survived things that would have killed most women. I still love life. I was homeless, now I'm not. Still in the 'hood, though. Nebraska Avenue, 33605. The stories are priceless and endless.

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Monday, September 24, 2012

ROW 80 4TH ROUND PRE-SEASON DAY 1 – YEAH, I KNOW IT’S NOT FOOTBALL

Yeah, I
know it’s not football, it’s a blogging thingy. A challenge as it were, but
I’ve been knocking around here and some really weird shit has happened and I’m
not down with it in the least. I may as well just blart it out and get it off
my chest. I tried being stoic. Fuck it. I’m not and never will be. The last
time I was, it earned me a time-out and that was almost a permanent deal. I
guess that’s not how I roll. Instead of staying up for a month and having
psychotic break and then getting packed off to the funny farm, courtesy of the
State of Florida for almost another month. About the only part of that whole
mess I do remember is St. Patrick’s day weekend, which is ironic as hell,
because I don’t remember lots of St. Patty’s days. So, why the fuck did I start
down that road again? Is it because I’m just so goddamned weary and in so much
physical and psychic (not psychological pain, I’m not depressed) pain that
there are days I just don’t want to get out of bed? Is it because I’m just so
ragingly angry at the human race and what we’ve devolved into that I just don’t
give a shit? Is this the cosmic opposite of what should be the divine? Is this
a true decent into madness? Where one is very aware of the raging chaos that is
out there. Of the horrendous insults and cruelties. The insane acts of
barbarity we inflict on one another in the name of religion, further inflamed
by the holy righteousness of the cause are staggering. And for what? To be
perpetuated, that’s what; generation after generation.

I’m not
saying anything new. I feel like I’m chasing my tail, AGAIN. I wanted to have
some fun with “this here bloggy-blog” as Andi-Roo says, but I haven’t been
seeing much of it lately. So, I’m going to take a deep breath, and focus on the
positive, because this is the 3rd time I’ve gotten to practice
something that has become a passion. I’ve hit the lottery in life. I was able
to play music which I loved with a passion from before I was born, if you ever
listened to my mother. I actually earned a living at it; that was a plus. Then
I married the dolt who thought the Zither Fairy would come along; he wanted no
other violists in the house but he. Yeah, that worked, so I went back to school,
majored in computer science, and voilà, got divorced. I moved to Florida and
worked for IBM. Boom! A second passion. I love computers, math, science, all
things nerdy. I’m not a particular genius or brilliant; I’m just interested in
it all. Sub-atomic as well as astronomical. Seen and unseen. Now, we’re delving
into the philosophical. Of course. Everything that rises must converge.

With that
in mind, this is kind of how I think everything is a big ball of everything,
contiguous, endless and connected. But, as per usual, I digress. After Idiot
Violist husband, I somehow managed to snare Evil Manipulative Shallow Straw Man
husband, whom I walked out on. Seeing as how he got a girlfriend while I was
busy dying of CHF, but didn’t and then he did his damnedest to try and kill
passively until I walked out and took him for a ride, you’d think I would have
learned my lesson. Nope, I had to go a round with Brainless Drunk and play
Brainless Drunkette until I finally wound up in the hospital for 2 months. The
irony is that I had been sober for several months by that time. It didn’t
matter. I still had no home, no job, and no health. I really hit bottom; that shit worked and I finally got honest for the first time in my life. I was 54.

I blame
myself for the Brainless dude, but there was no harm in him. Straw Man, or "Crapweasel" as he is known, is truly
malevolent. I think the worst things a person can ever do short of murder, is to take someone’s trust
and knowingly subvert it. There are certain people who are trusting as
children. I don’t care if they live to be 100, they’re just like that and they
need to have people in their lives who understand that and will guard that
trust. It’s sacred to me. JC is very much like that. I’m like that and it’s something too
few people understand. Actually, we should all just be like that. It’s a
no-brainer. But there are a lot of evil assholes in this world who are just
waiting to take, hurt and put themselves in that position of power. Well, Karma is a
bitch, and someday, all of those people who hurt the ones who trusted them blindly will get it in the neck.

Anyway,
off I go on another screed. After hanging out at the ol’ funny farm and coming home I was pretty aimless. I ran into
Andi-Roo’s post “Depression is a Lying Bitch.” She’s heard me blart on about this
a million times, and poor thing, she’ll have to listen to it a million more, I
guess. It galvanized me. It still does and I read it back in May. I re-read it now and again; powerful post. I still feel
that thrill that I felt when I first read it. I cried; howled, bawled and I got
it. And I started to write as if my life depended on it, because, it does. Life
is fragile. Yeah, that’s a chestnut and all. Having Parkinson’s Disease has a
very weird effect on people. Some people become absolutely debilitated and
granted there’s lots I can’t do, but I couldn’t anyway, because I’m blind.
There’s also an opposite effect, and I guess that’s what I have; there’s not a
damned thing I can’t do. That’s the up part of the bipolar part. The bipolarity
is actually caused by the Parkinson’s. So, it’s all part of a fun ball of
confuse-a-what.

So,
basically, I don’t give a shit; of course life is fragile. I fall down, I get
up. I go to the bus stop and get threatened by the stupid bangers. I go into
batshit crazy routine, they back down. I out-crazied 4 of them yesterday, assholes.
Every once in a while, we get knocked back, a bit. But we persevere. And
always, always there is the writing. With this, I can create worlds. Okay,
there not the greatest of worlds; I’m not much on the imagination part of
things, but I haven’t really tried yet either. So, anyway, sit back and enjoy
the Pre-Season ROW80. Remember this is the 3rd

Itinerant violist and computer trouble-shooter for more years than I care to admit. While no longer homeless, still crazy, but with Labels *sigh* a bus-riding Asperger, bipolar-ridden, PD or non-PD, carbon life-form, providing fodder for Medical community. Not even kidding. Still ridiculous.

Acquiring a much richer and fuller experience and finding deeper meaning in day to day life, than I ever learned in a classroom, concert hall, or computer center. I will never believe that things just occur randomly, just monumentally disordered.

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Eventually everything happens on Nebraska Avenue. The pimps have been here, both the real and the political. The athletes and the artists. It's a life, a state of mind and it's home, Nebraska Avenue, 33605, 33602 and 33604.

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